beamed up into the UFO that was the gentle glove of her father’s maw, the girl paddled pitifully in the air against the effortless transport, mourning her departure from the beloved milk bar.
resigned to this fate, the moonchild settled into the hamper of her father-doktor's paws for tending to, grizzling as he took stock of her wellbeing, and only loudly fussing if her shoulders were palpated. the tenderness there would subside in a week or so, but for now, any flare up was cause for dramatics.
when he spoke to her, warm breath was strewn against her ticklish toes and belly and although it could explained away as passing gas, a smile briefly dimpled her cheeks.
after her checkup was complete (um, don’t you usually get a sucker after these appointments?) and mahler gathered his daughter against his breast, she yawned fiercely with the threat of sleep tiptoeing in, but nein! sleep was for the dead! tolerating his cradling for some moments, she mouthed self-soothingly on her own paw and the sandman almost had her, til hiccups jostled her awake.
deciding he would make a better jungle gym for the time being anyway, she maneuvered his bosom with the speed and agility of an inchworm. another hic foiled her progress, trundling her down into his arms.
the assembly of smells coming from his mouth drew forth most of her curiosity—meat, perhaps perfumed herbs he'd recently accrued, his own distinct musk—so when when he came within reach she lipped at his whiskers and worked her pink gums against his chin, instinctively trying to latch onto it like she would a teat. (hey phone if u could stop autocorrecting teat to twat that’d be great thx)
feel free to fade us since she's useless <3 i'll make an AW thread to spice things up
unlike the embonpoint belly of her mother, this bristly “teat” was found lacking. no amount of kneading and clumsy grasping yielded what she sought, and although there was a sense of familiarity with the vibrations of his low rumbling voice and the vibrations that came from a hungered wylla’s grumbling stomach, not a driblet of milk could be coaxed from it. so, she gave up and found a new career as a spelunker. specifically, into the grotto of his great mouth. so many different smells, and no cranny within it too small for her to reconnoiter with the prying thrust of her nose. hmmm, said the dentist. no cavities as far as I can tell … she prodded at his canine teeth, and molars, and the black rimple of his gums. a man of overall superior dental health. might benefit from chewing a mint leaf after meals, and flossing, lest you continue getting microbes known as “infant daughteritis” stuck between your teeth.
it was a miracle wylla hadn’t stirred from her slumber (probably in a coma of her own after nights of being shrieked awake or boob-abused) to find her child comically almost halfway down mahler’s throat. or as close as she could get, anyway, before she spat herself out as worlds biggest and cutest loogey in the dutiful ambit of the gargoyle’s leg with another hic.
always hiccuping, this one. (woe betide her! the unfortunate consequences of gluttony)
after a climb through the slate pastures of his ruff, and a slightly longer journey across his his hackles, she felt the heavy curtain of sleep drawing, with or without her compliance this time. huffing a grunt, the moteling gave up her expedition of crossing the eisen's mountainous terrain and clambered off his neck with grace a smidge less than that of a spider monkey, stumbling her way into the corral of his forelegs.
sprawling out into a stretch, and with a squeak fit for a pip such as she, phaedra then curled herself 'round his paw and nuzzled her wrinkly face against its callused pad. presently, sleep finally tugged insistently at the peripherals of her consciousness, but she was a light sleeper (perhaps her soul was wary of the anchor and the sensations of sinking so deeply as before). her nose was kept active by the slew of interesting scents clinging to his feet. some identifiable, like the earth. others not yet inventoried, like ...
... fritos®?